


Wormwood

by jury



Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Choking, Dubious Consent, Hate Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-22 16:49:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14313024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jury/pseuds/jury
Summary: Akira makes one last-ditch attempt to get through to Ryo.





	Wormwood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [terminus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/terminus/gifts).



The moon comes apart with a great crack of thunder and the rain that follows might be part rock for how it stings against his skin. Satan loves that sound, and everything that came before and after it, from the moment he came into the world to this one, where the ground is scarred open from blows and soaked with blood, diffusing sweetly into the bowed grass with the rain. Akira is laid low below him, his skin a mirror of the ground, mired with cuts, each breath he exhales sending a huge cloud of steam out into the night – or what was night. Maybe the whole world is night now, from dusk to dusk, the sun rising as an overripe orange and leaking seeds and pulp out into the sky, the clouds a greyish smudge of smog against a dark velvet sky, each star a violent needle into the fabric of it that leaves a rip in its wake, leaving trails and comets soaring across, fragments of what once was. Satan thinks it is all beautiful, like a symphony coming to climax – no. Like when the orchestra tunes up, each discordant note sounding together. Each breath he breathes becomes part of that, twining into the night. Akira is trying to stand, his legs scrabbling against the slick ground, matted with mud and blood, streaked across his face and most of his body. He’s alone, now – finally. He’s talking, too, and when Satan comes closer, leans down to listen, Akira shrinks down from his divine light as if it burns.

“Bring him back,” Akira says. His voice is destroyed, half cracked with fatigue alone, and then everything else on top of it. Satan likes that sound. He puts his hand on Akira’s forehead, feels the burn of his skin and everything below, the pulse of his blood. It rages in him – always has since he became what he was always meant to be. 

“Who?” Satan says. He would bring back anyone for Akira. He would do anything, except what Akira wants, and that’s fine, really, because what Akira wants can change. He moves his hand down, wiping the rain off his forehead. Akira’s lips part in a snarl, and Satan knows that if he had the energy, then limbs and bones would be scattering across the field, blood salting the earth until nothing remains. But Akira is nearly at his end, and he thinks the weariness suits him, the lax splay of his limbs against the dying grass. He almost looks relaxed, apart from his breath on Satan’s face, stirring his hair, and the way he keeps trying to get up, the once-moonlight shining of each neat claw at the ends of his hands. 

“Ryo,” Akira says, the name hissing out, dim eyes narrowing. Satan smooths his brow, thumb travelling down across one of Akira’s eyes, shuttering the lid before he travels on, down to the curve of his cheekbone. He could snap it just with the pressure of one finger, but he doesn’t want to – unless Akira asks him to, of course.

“Why?” He feels Akira surging up underneath him just through the shift in his muscles, knocking Satan back. They go down into the rain and the mud, Akira’s nails sharp against his back, his whole warm body against Satan’s front, smearing dirt and blood and tears all down his chest. He puts his hand on the back of Akira’s head, curling in the short hairs there and pulling him up. Tears soak down into his skin, as Akira’s eyes overspill, mingling with the stinging rain. He feels himself shrink down until he’s back into the shell form, his mind quivering back into a familiar restrictive shape. Satan likes wishes, bargains, secrets, really. Granting one for Akira, even without anything in return, seems like turnabout. Seems a bit like fair play. His eyes are closed, fat droplets squeezing out the sides. It’s distinguishable from the rain even without looking because of the heat of it, sliding down Ryo’s ribs like they were made for it, tracks for his tears. 

Akira opens his eyes and sees him. Ryo feels small in Akira’s arms, snaking around him, squeezing him tight against his bare chest. His skin is cold, almost waxy-white against the dirt and he feels muted, somehow, even though he can still feel that divine light at the base of his skull, where the bumps of his spine stand out against his skin. He’s naked, his back cold against the ground and front hot where he’s pressed up against Akira like some great beast, his skin damp, chest heaving with his sobs. Ryo lets himself be held. He feels like a vessel that had been emptied but needs to be filed again, and he knows this form won’t last forever. Is this what Akira wants? Is this what will bring him to Satan’s side? He doesn’t understand it. The fight – he understood the fight, but this is something different. Things that he’s seen and done reap rewards, but those rewards are conquest, progeny, decimation. Not whatever this is. 

Akira opens his eyes and sees him, the brightness of his eyes, and his grip tightens on Ryo until he feels his ribs might break, his back shoved deep into the earth until he has to plant his heels and push back against the pressure. He’s chanting Ryo’s name like it’s some kind of mantra, his big hands sliding up and over Ryo’s shoulder, leaving a shivery trail of heat in its wake. He cradles Ryo’s head in his hands and kisses him gently under his left eye, and then his right. The light pressure of it is fleeting, and Akira draws back. The look of tenderness on his face is so obscure that Ryo can’t help laughing, his body trembling with mirth as he tries to keep his mouth closed. Akira looks confused, then angry, and grabs the back of his head and tilts it down, pressing his mouth down over Ryo’s. His tongue is huge and wet in Ryo’s mouth, half-choking him. Akira’s hand is against his throat, but not gripping, his fingers resting against his vein, but not pressing, just stroking downwards. Ryo is still laughing, even when Akira pulls back, still holding his hair, the frisson of pain not enough to quell him. 

“This is it?” he says. “ _This_ is what you wanted?” He’s shaking, still, squeezing his arms out of Akira’s hold and splaying himself out on the ground, stretching his arms up above his head and looking down at Akira through his lashes. Akira looks disgusted, but his hands don’t move and he can feel his blood thundering through the weight of his body where he still has Ryo’s legs pinned. “Go ahead,” he says, “do what you want. But at the end of it, I’ll consider it a won fight.” Akira growls; he can feel the rumble of it through his legs. Akira pulls him back down, Ryo’s back sliding in the mud and it’s easy for him to do so, a single hand gripping Ryo’s thigh, each nail pricking his skin. Akira, too, is changing back, his legs sliding against Ryo’s as his fur melts away to skin and rough hair. He kisses Ryo’s mouth again like he’s trying to draw out his soul, his tongue reaching in. 

“Put some more effort into it, Akira,” Ryo says when Akira withdraws, panting. His fingers are scrabbling at Ryo’s sides in some parody of affection, but Ryo can feel that his cock is soft against his skin. Ryo smiles, wide, looking up into the sky. The rain falling from this angle looks like stars on their descent to earth, which is also happening. It’s easy to ignore Akira’s touches when there are such beautiful things to see. Akira is still touching him, plucking at his nipples with one hand, the other digging into his ribs in some approximation of passion. Akira rises up above him, pinning Ryo to the ground with his hips. Ryo loops his hands up over Akira’s neck like lovers in a painting and looks up at him. Akira’s teeth are grit together and Ryo can see the muscle fluttering in his jaw. Like this, Akira towers over him. “Try harder,” he says. “I can’t feel anything at all.” He can see the moment that Akira’s attitude changes, his soft touches becoming harsh. His hand comes back up to Ryo’s neck and instead of stroking at the skin he grips instead, until Ryo’s breath starts coming short, high little pants. Nothing swells within him to protect him. He knows he will never need protection from Akira.

“I could end this all right now,” Akira says, and his grip tightens just a little more until Ryo can only catch the barest breath. Even so, he can’t seem to stop his thumb smoothing over the edge of Ryo’s jaw, the tenderness of it a distaff to the pressure of his hand. Ryo smiles and his chest flutters against Akira’s arm. He lets go. Ryo’s body drags in air, heaving with it. 

“You won’t,” he says, and he sees the truth of it reflected in Akira’s eyes. “You can’t.” 

“Come back,” Akira says, and it’s just the barest hint of the words.

“I’m here,” Ryo says. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Isn’t this what you wanted?” Akira growls and pushes down on him with his hips, grinds his soft cock against Ryo’s skin. He smiles and Akira grabs his hip, hard enough to bruise. 

“I’ll make you come back,” Akira says, sliding his fingers up and into Ryo’s mouth. Ryo can’t help but curl his tongue around them, just to see what Akira does – what Akira wants. He pushes the fingers along Ryo’s tongue and presses it down until Ryo’s mouth hangs open and then takes it away again and pushes it behind himself. He grunts, frowns, brow furrowing and shifts back against his own hand. He sits back against it, thighs flexing against Ryo’s. His other hand wraps around Ryo’s cock, tugging at it ungently, pushing the heel of his hand against it. His whole, hot hand almost wraps around it, thumb rubbing at the head and Ryo feels himself – no, his body – begin to respond, almost paradoxically, to the roughness of the stimulation. Akira’s eyes are closed, his face flushed as his hips push down against his hand. Ryo can’t tell if he’s deriving pleasure from it, but every time he pushes back he squeezes Ryo’s cock with his other hand until it becomes almost a rhythm, like in his imagination Ryo is already inside him, the muscles of his thighs squeezing every time he rocks back. Ryo is struck by the sudden urge to touch him, and he does, drawing the edge of his thumbnail across Akira’s abs as hard as he can. 

Akira gasps, rocking back hard on his hand and pulls his hand out and shuffles forward on his knees. Ryo’s cock is very hard, but he still feels disconnected, like the friction against it is happening to someone else, second-hand, and he’s only feeling the echo. Whatever Akira is trying to make him feel simply isn’t there. There's an alien heat settling into his body as Akira pushes himself back down onto Ryo's cock. He hasn't stretched himself enough and it must hurt, but that thought just gives Ryo a perverse pleasure as the head of his cock stretches Akira's ass, his face screwed up with determination as he sits himself down to the point where his ass meets Ryo's hips, sweat being washed off his forehead by the stinging rain. Akira's cock is still soft, but Ryo can tell it's bigger than his, thicker. The sight of it stirs something inside him that's no longer meant to be there, and he can't help himself reaching out to touch it in a perfunctory manner, rolling his foreskin up and down to reveal the wet head of his cock. Akira's face is all crumpled up, his thighs moving against the side of Ryo's body. His cock is getting hard now, standing up straight from his body as Ryo continues to touch it just to see what Akira will do. 

What he does is raise his hips and bring them back down again. His face looks like it hurts, and that look intensifies as Ryo manipulates his cock until it begins to leak wetness against his wrist. He doesn't like that, for some reason, because he gasps in pain as Ryo strokes him, getting wetter and wetter against Ryo's wrist, unable to stop his hips jerking up and down in some parody of lovemaking. He moans out a syllable, and then another, driving his hips down. Ryo realises with a cold shock that it's his name falling from Akira's lips as he drives his cock against Ryo's hand, the heat of it seeming to sear down into his bones. It's not something he should be feeling — not something he _can_ be feeling as he knocks his hips up, pushing his cock hard into the tight heat of Akira's ass, who grunts at the feeling, slamming his hips down to match it. He must be hitting something good for Akira inside because soon he's gasping, brows knotted together as Ryo fucks him and jerks him off, creating an irregular rhythm that Akira can't keep up with. Ryo squeezes the head of his cock with his fingers, reaches down to apply the same pressure to his balls, which are hot and tight, drawn up against Akira's body. He shouts and comes, splattering come across Ryo's stomach and up to his chin, his cock going soft against Ryo's wrist.

Ryo isn't done. He pushes Akira up and off him, his cock sliding free with a bruised noise from Akira's ass and shoves him down into the grass face-first, pushing his cock back into the wet channel, thrusting with no regard to the noises Akira is making under him, gripping his hips and pulling him back onto Ryo's cock. Akira is sobbing, and when Ryo reaches under him he finds his cock is hard again. His facade is cracking. His light is growing. Akira is gasping out Ryo's name, his cock wetting Ryo's hand again. Ryo's wings are coming out, his form shattering around him, his limbs lengthening, cock growing inside Akira, his voice going from a moan to a shout. He begins to change too, but Satan is ahead, his grip too firm on Akira's hips to pull away as he shoves his cock one last time into Akira and comes, scratching at Akira's skin, his come flooding into Akira who kicks back at him and flies forward, pulling himself off Satan's cock, turning only for a second before flying at him, raining blows all over his body. 

Something in Satan is still calling out for the heat of Akira's body, but it fades, a voice crying out in the darkness. Something is on fire nearby. He can smell the smoke of it even against the rain. This is it. This is the end. There will be nothing after this.


End file.
